


Meet Me in the Dark

by Moonlessnite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost Kiss, Attempted Seduction, Boys Kissing, Cannon Divergent, Child Abandonment, Childhood sexual abuse - past, Crobby - Freeform, Dimension Cannon, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, King of Hell, M/M, Memories of the Apocolypse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Memories, Past Sexual Abuse, Rough Kissing, Seduction, Tags May Change, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-08 19:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlessnite/pseuds/Moonlessnite
Summary: This is a cannon divergent interpretation of what happened after the Season 6, Episode 4, Weekend at Bobbys.





	1. Wonderful coverart by nopenopeartichoke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Knowmefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/gifts), [nopenopeartichoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nopenopeartichoke/gifts).




	2. Meet me in the dark

There were things that Bobby Singer preferred not to remember.

A hunt in Amarillo for a vampire that wasn’t just draining its victims, but was stringing them up by their feet and applying slow, barely mortal cuts. He bled the victims dry into a bucket hanging below the head of the unwilling donor. Killing for food and for pleasure. Over thirty dead across fifteen states. It had taken the two hunters three weeks to find the blood-sucker that was taking human by human, like chess pieces. Slow and methodical. The actual kill was an easy one, although over a dozen more humans died screaming while the two hunters couldn’t find the beast.

One was a young girl who couldn't have been more than ten years old. The vampires latest and last victim. She was still warm when Rufus checked her limply swinging, sliced up body. The gold of her hair washed in red like a sunset.

That one time in Daytona where he watched a hopped-up ghoul rip a young hunters arms off his body with an ear splitting roar. His heart had given a lurch in pain and fear as he’d heard the kid scream over the sound of ripping flesh. An arch of blood, almost glistening in the setting sun outside the still unfinished subdivision, had looked almost beautiful. Beads of red catching the light and falling like ruby rain. The boy was a few years younger than Dean at the time. In fact, it should have been Sam and Dean with him, but they thought they had a lead on their daddy and Bobby hadn’t had the heart to pull them away. _Just as well,_ he'd thought bitterly. He'd hardened his heart and put a bullet in the kids head to end his pain. His favorite machete took the head off the ghoul.

Bobby had carefully gathered the boys arms, along with his body, and given him a hunters funeral right in the back yard of what would be some yuppies house. There was plenty of wood laying around. Afterwards, he’d gotten drunk in some nameless hotel, the blood of the dead boy still crusted under his short fingernails.

And Karen……

Bobby slams a door shut on that thought as he takes a long drink of the whiskey swirling in the glass clutched in his thick hands. The life of a hunter. One horrific, blood-drenched memory after another. The sounds of screams as good men and women died. The taste of battle and the smell of entrails in the air as a beast got taken out by gun or blade. Until something managed to take him out too. This wasn’t a life anyone walked away from.

At least his soul was safe. 

He didn’t regret giving his immortal soul over for the location of Death. They had to have the last Horsemans ring to open the cage and lock Lucifer away. Even if saving the world meant losing one of the boys he’d raised as his own. As for himself, he was probably going to burn for some of the things he'd done, so why not get something from his impending trip downstairs? Shit was what you got when you gave yourself over to this life. Sacrificing for the greater good. This time, the greater good was more than a random monster or two. It was stopping the Apocalypse and saving the damn world.

And Crowley had helped with that by giving him back his legs, even though that hadn’t been part of their deal.

"Crowley," Bobby growls softly to himself. 

There were some things Bobby Singer preferred not to think about.

Bobby downs the remainder his drink and pours another. Which he immediately throws back and goes to pour a third. And then a fourth. And fuck, why not a fifth. On the sixth, he goes back to sipping the harsh brown liquid that lights a fire deep in his belly, a sour expression twisting his face.

Shockingly, he’d survived the encounter with the devil. Well, once Cas had brought him back. Back in the land of the living and Apocalypse averted, it was now his goal to get his soul back. He hadn’t trusted the demon from the get go, so he'd made contingency plans. Plans that hadn't worked. It was a damn lucky break with that hit on Crowelys son. Even if it meant he owed that bastard Rufus another favor.

When the King of Hell had vanished hours ago to collect his long-buried bones, Bobbys heart had given a hard, painful lurch. He'd won, but it was a hollow victory. The hunter didn't like these games. The kind of games that Crowley seemed to get off on playing. But the stakes had been high enough, this time, for Bobby to buy his way in. The past year, he'd gotten to know the demon. Started to understand what made him tick. The smarmy bastard had popped in to offer help a number of times since they'd banded together as unlikely allies. Three hunters, a fallen angel, and the King of Hell that had teamed up to battle Satan himself. And won.

He hadn’t told Sam and Dean how many times the Demon King had come back after that first deal for his soul. 

After that kiss. 

Bobby downs the rest of the whiskey and pours another, getting up from his cluttered table and wandering over to the window. The light from the desk lamp doesn't quite reach him here. The junkyard outside is bathed in silvery moonlight that creates darkened shapes, a world painted in black and white. His vision of that world is slightly blurry at the edges, whether through alcohol or exhaustion, he doesn't know. Probably a combination of both. The years hadn't been easy on the aging hunter. 

He catches himself stroking his bottom lip with his free hand and tears his fingers away with a grunt. It's times like these, in the still of the night with most of the world asleep, that he feels the darkness creeping in on him. He thinks about his life. About his boys. Dean had miraculously gotten out of the life, only to be drawn back in. Gotten a chance at normal, only to have it ripped away. Sam was back from the dead and hunting with his also-no-longer-dead grandfather before he tracked Dean down again. Something was wrong there. Something he was going to need to figure out. But not tonight. Not after today. The boys were on their way back from Scotland with a victory and he’d see them soon. Bobby was getting to missing the idjits. Whether he acknowledged it or not, he was lonely.

And Crowley had filled some of those lonely nights. 

The hunters mind drifts to the night he'd returned from a job to kill a rugaro in Ohio, not long after the failed end of the world. He was tired, dirty, and had a gash that was still throbbing on his right forearm from a lucky swipe. As he'd dropped his duffle on the couch, he'd felt the unmistakable heat of eyes on his back. Taking a deep, casual breath, he'd grabbed his pistol from the top of the well-stocked bag. With speed belying his age, he'd spun around with gun at the ready to see Crowley lounging against the entryway to his kitchen. 

The King of Hell had been swathed in shadows but Bobby had felt the weight of his dark gaze. Even though the demon had helped them save the world, the hunter never forgot who, and what, he was dealing with. His gun stayed steady. Crowley hadn't blinked at having a pistol trained on him. With a languid movement, the smaller man had simply taken a deep drink of whatever was in the glass clutched in his hand. His low voice, cynical and icy, had echoed through the room "Now Bobby, is that any way to welcome a guest?" Seeming to glide, the demon had taken a few steps into the open space, stopping where a shaft of moonbeam produced a natural spotlight. 

Bobby eyed the man cautiously. A sardonic smirk had played about Crowleys lips as menace laced the air like smoke. The demons entire form had been clad in a black on black suit with just a flash of silver highlight on his dark tie. He’d looked elegant and suave. Powerful. Dangerous. Every inch the Demon King despite his shorter stature. Bobby had felt like roadkill in comparison with his dirty jeans and a bloodstained shirt. His right boot had a hole starting near the toe and the aroma of death and sweat had seemed to surround him like a noxious cloud. Not exactly a great representation of humanity.

The hunter had taken two steps forward before stopping, unwilling to be intimidated. When he’d answered, his voice had been a low growl and just as cold. "I don't recall inviting you in." With the ease of practice, Bobby had cocked the hammer on the pistol and extended it slightly closer, the move causing his wound to throb anew. It had all been for show, and he and the demon both knew it. There had been nothing in that gun that would stop the King of Hell, but sometimes it was the appearance of a threat that matters. 

Crowleys unsettling gaze had swept Bobbys form from head to toe as he’d raised the glass back to his lips. Darkened eyes had sparkled over the rim of the beverage with sadistic pleasure as he’d taken another long drink. The hunters gaze had followed the movement of the other mans throat as he swallowed. The demon had licked his lips before setting the glass on a bookshelf. "Put the gun away Roberta. I'm not in the mood for your kind of kinky fun. I'm here to talk business." The other man had slid his hands into the pockets of his coat as he'd studied the hunter with a hint of challenge in the tilt of his head, the twist of his expression. 

Bobby had hesitated briefly before uncocking the pistol and sliding the weapon in his waistband beneath his oversized flannel. He didn't think he'd made any indication of the pain the move had caused him, but the demons eyes had lowered, narrowing in on the wound still covered by cheap cotton. The hunter held his breath as tension coiled in his gut. The wound was minor but you never showed weakness to a predator. "So what business do you need me for?" He pushed out gruffly.

Crowley hesitated, his eyes still fixed on the arm Bobby was trying to casually tuck behind his leg. The silence went on beyond comfortable parameters before the demon had looked back into the hunters eyes. Gazes locked in challenge. "What happened?" The Kings voice had been soft, but no less a command for answers despite its lack of volume.

Bobby had cursed mentally before making a bold move. He'd ignored the demand as he’d turned his back to the demon and walked over to his desk. Mostly steady hands had picked up an empty rocks glass he’d left there from a few nights before. Keeping his gaze down, he'd poured what was left of a bottle before he'd tipped it back, drinking deep. Once finished, he'd put the glass back in its place before looking back at Crowley. That had been a mistake. Deep within the demons eyes shown the dark red of hellfire, of his twisted soul. 

Bobby shivered interally.

In a move almost too fast for the hunter to track, The King had been in front of him. Thick fingers had gripped the wounded mans arm. Bobby hadn't been able to stifle the small grunt of pain, or pull his arm back from the punishing hold as the demon had used his free hand to rip the shirt to the hunters elbow. The wound on his arm had looked worse than it was.  Red gouges were deep in the flesh but not enough to warrant stiches. Bobby had been planning to clean it out before Crowley had shown up. 

The demon had firmly twisted his arm back and forth, examining the wound in the dim light. His thumb has prodded the edge of the tear and blood began to trickle from the barely scabbed flesh as the wound reopened. Desperately, Bobby had pulled back again. Surprisingly, the hand that had held him let go and he slammed into the desk as he lost his balance. With shaky movements, the hunter had pulled the torn material back over the claw marks and stared with wide eyes at the Demon King. Something inside him had trembled and he growled it into submission, even as he went on the attack. “What the hell was that for?”

When Crowley had met his eyes again, all trace of red was gone but that didn’t diminish the fury that had shone in their depths. “Some nasty thing got a taste of you. Any other love taps that you’re hiding beneath that alluring cotton blend?” The tone was nasty, mocking, and dark. Bobby had noticed a flash of teeth from the demon as he moved closer, bare inches separating the two of them. The hunter had caught the scent of whiskey, tobacco and, surprisingly, something like burnt cinnamon. No sulfur......

Bobby had wanted to move but there was nowhere for him to go with the desk at his back. The King of Hell had been so close that he’d have had to brush against him to get away. He hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d had no idea why, he’d just knew he didn’t. A twisting, burning heat had started to gather in his belly as he’d met the dark eyes before him with as much defiance as he could muster. “Afraid they’ll damage your merchandise?” The words had been out before he realized what he was saying and he’d tensed, preparing for the demon to retaliate in some way that would make him regret his flippant tone.

But the Demon King had done nothing but narrow his deep eyes. As Bobby had watched in part horror, part fascination, the man before him had slowly licked his lips. The dark gaze released him as the line of the demons vision had lowered to just below the hunters eyes. To his lips.

Without warning, the space in front of Bobby had suddenly been empty. A breath had shuddered out of the hunter in a rush, astonishingly loud in the sudden silence.

He’d cleaned his wounds, changed clothes, and gotten very drunk that night.

The next morning, as he’d gone out to check on a few cars he was working on for extra income, he’d damn near tripped over a bag of bandages.

Now, Bobby stared out the window past his own baggy eyed reflection. It seemed that that visit had just been the start of an unsettling string of late night drops ins by the King of Hell. Of course, now that Bobby had won his freedom, he doubted the demon would come calling again. Unless it was to kill him. No other reason for Crowley to see him again.  

The word liar rang in his brain as he finished the whiskey remaining in his glass.

He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he jumped when an exhausted but still melodic voice sounded behind him, instead of inside his memories. “Thinking about me Robert?”


	3. Watch as the lowly peasant becomes the Alpha God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowleys POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE UPDATED TAGS.

There were things that Crowley preferred not to remember.

Some of his earliest recollections when he was human are of cold. Darkness. Hunger. He'd been the bastard son of a powerful witch who cared more for her magic than her ill begotten child.  He had been dragged from town to town, city to city, dirty and mostly forgotten in his mothers wake when she was pissy with her Coven. Like any evil bitch, she'd had a lust for power and was willing to do almost anything to get ahead when the other witches wouldn’t give her what she wanted. That included taking any man, or woman, to her bed that could advance her standing. Crowley knew more about sex by the age of four than some people did in their entire lives.

Born Fergus MacLeod, the ridiculous name his mother had given him. He’d always been a smart and talented child. Red haired, blue eyed, and fair skinned, he'd drawn plenty of unwanted attention that he’d known instinctively he needed to avoid . His mother, Rowena, hadn't helped matters with her propensity to flaunt herself and her power. Not at a time when anything different died often and violent. Even though she had taught him much in the way of magic, he wasn't truly gifted and never practiced.

But he'd learned. 

Crowley recalled at a young age when he and his mother had traveled with a carnival for a time.  After an unfortunate incident and the death of her rich lovers wife, the two had been forced to flee their current accommodations and taken up with the traveling circus to hide. She, plying her talents as a fortune teller, and he, working to help with any odd jobs or small tasks a young child could do. 

He'd been enamored by the bright costumes and smiling faces. But what had fascinated him most was the acrobats. They'd looked so graceful. So carefree. Something he had never been. When one of the performers found him trying to learn to juggle with the aid of two rounded pebbles and a piece of wood, the man had taken him under his wing. Taught him the art. And Fergus had known he’d been talented.  The young, forgotten boy had found he had skills for tricks, both mental and physical.

That experience had been one of the few bright spots of his childhood. Even though that memory had been sullied when Rowena, who discovered his talents, had tried to trade him for three pigs. He’d learned to fucking juggle. He was worth five pigs at least.

At the age of eight, he'd remembered waking, scared and alone in some rat-infested room to the screams of women as the Grand Coven had come for his mother. Rowena had been long gone. The witches had had no need of a young, ungifted child, so they'd simply left him to his own devices. From that moment on, Crowley had truly known what being alone was.  

With no means to pay, he'd been kicked out of the room into the streets. At first, he'd tried to perform tricks on the corner to entertain people passing by. Mostly all he got was a swift swat or a verbal threat. No money.  There were businesses looking for workers but no one wanted to hire the skinny, dirty little boy. He'd slept in alleys for weeks, curled in on himself to protect his hands and feet from the rats that were drawn by the refuse. Some days, he was able to eat scraps or moldy food thrown into the gutter. The ache of hunger was his constant companion. 

Angry and unaided, he’d been determined to survive, so he'd learned to trade in the only sure commodity he had. His body.  Enough men he'd encountered in his life had made it clear what they wanted to do to him. With his red hair and large blue eyes, he was an unusual catch, especially back then.  With his childs form, he was a beacon to the most sordid among the dregs of society. Like starving dogs to a cornered rabbit. Most of the men, and they were all men that used him, barely paid him enough to get a few scraps of food for him to stagger through the next day.

One man in particular was especially brutal.

It was the captain of a trading ship. The Captain. That’s what Crowley had called him, always capitalized. He never knew the tossers real name. The mangy bastard liked to hurt him and had kept him locked up in a small basement in his house to be used for his own amusement. When he was told that the man had been heading out on a six months long voyage overseas, and that he was to go with him, Crowley had put up what fight he could as an underfed ten-year old. Normally, he would have been easily outmatched. The Captain was younger than most of the men who abused him, and stronger. However, the man had been drunk and stupid.

Crowley had been neither.

When the man had forced him to the ground, the young boy he’d been had grabbed the jeweled knife in the sheath of the mans tooled leather belt. As The Captain had held him down and started to tear off his pants, he’d buried the gleaming silver blade to the hilt in the bastards chest. He’d never forgotten that look in the assholes eyes as he’d sat back on his heels, his hands going to the blade piercing his black heart as the light faded from his cold green eyes. Crowley had stumbled to his feet, watching with glee as The Captian fell to his side. The mans hands clutched limply around the killing weapon. His mouth had opened and closed like a fish out of water as blood bubbled out to pool by his head on the dusty floors. 

And Crowley had felt elated. 

So maybe that memory wasn’t so bad, he thought as he took a long drink of whiskey. It was also when he'd decided he was damned so he might as well enjoy his cursed existence. 

Till the Hellhounds came for him......

He slams the door on that particular memory as he closes his dark eyes and savors the feel of the cold throne at his back. Who knew a two-bit tailor would rise to The King of Hell. It wasn't till the torture in Hell turned him into a demon that he got ambitious. 

He'd always had a knack for deals, and his skill in exploiting others had soon come to the attention of Lillith. Back then, she was still wearing the guise of an adult woman, before she’d taken on that annoying child persona. When the King of the Crossroads at the time had annoyed her, she’d had him trapped inside his meatsuit and flayed alive. When she tired of his screams, she’d burned him to cinders from the inside out. Then, she’d turned to Crowley and offered him the job. He’d accepted without a moments hesitation. When she’d taken him to the floor in a mercurial fit of passion, he’d yielded gladly and fucked her right there in the ashes of his predecessor.

Now, he was the Demon King.

When Lillith had attempted to raise Lucifer, Crowley had seen his chance to push into power the dog he wanted. Only he’d to ally himself with the fucking Winchesters. “And Bobby Singer,” The demon snarls quietly to himself.

There were some things Crowley preferred not to think about.

The King swallows down the remainder of his drink and gets up to pour another. The aging, crochety hunter and his two attack dogs had outsmarted him this time. The sting of that rage burned in the heart of his meatsuit like the fires in the deepest pits of his kingdom. The power of that rage, coursing through him when he’d vanished to hide his bones, is probably the thing that saved him when he returned to Hell and was ambushed. He’d been able to fight the demons off. Most of them he’d reduced into splatters of blood and flesh that now graced the stone walls lining one of his headquarters many corridors. One had gotten in a lucky strike and ruined the sleeve of his favorite suit.

That demon he had fed to his pet Hounds.

Too bad it couldn’t be one of the Winchesters he was feeding to his Juliet.

The whiskey he swallows burns all the way down his throat and into his belly, burning liked acid. The King finds himself chewing his bottom lip as he remembers the deal that got them all four rings to lock away the Devil. He’d wanted to win, had to, but if he didn’t, he was going to make sure the two flannel clad pains in his ass remained compliant. What better way than to hold hostage the soul of the man they loved like a father.

That deal had been his first actual glimpse of Robert Singer. Thankfully, the hunter hadn’t been smart enough to ward his home against demons. The house had the aging look of a building gently going to seed. Despite the books stacked on every available surface, knick-knacks, magical items, empty cheap liquor bottles, and dishes stacked along the counters, the home had smelled comforting. Inviting. Like the scent of aged wood with the underlying hint of clean soap.

The hunter had been rightfully suspicious. Ruined another one of Crowleys best suits with that damned buckshot to his chest.

Bobby had come around rather easily to The Kings way of thinking after their conversation. Almost too easily for the demons taste. He’d been suspicious of the hunters acceptance of his offer. Moose and Squirrel would have never gone for it, unless it was to save each other. They were depressingly maudlin when it came to their other halves. Of course, little Sammy had been poised to be the vessel for the Devil and Dean was to host his body to that arrogant asshole Michael. It probably shouldn't have been a surprise their surrogate father was just as disgustingly self-sacrificing.

Crowley had known about the prophecy long before either of those pretty boys had ever drawn breath. A deal with that bitch Bela and he had the bargaining chip of a lifetime.  When Moose and Squirrel had finally caught up to him, while they were hunting the Colt, he knew exactly how he could use them. And he now had a way to get rid of Azazel, the only Prince of Hell who gave a damn about raising the Devil from the Cage. Point them in the direction and set them loose. Everything had gone as planned. 

Till that cursed kiss. The demon downs his drink and pours another. 

Crowley prided himself on his sexual deviency. Men, women, it didn't matter to him. They were only tools to be used.  Pawns in whatever game he was playing. Sex was a weapon like anything else and he was just as deadly with that as with his mind or his powers. Deals were sealed with a kiss. A symbolic gesture of intimacy and binding. His favorites were the men with their deep-seated homophobia.  The cringing. The scent of fear. The taste of disgust. He'd figured alpha-male monster-hunter Bobby Singer would be the same. 

He'd been wrong. 

When the hunter had agreed to his terms, he'd waited for the man to balk at the final price. But he hadn't. In fact, the cocky bastard had rolled forward in his chair with fire in his eyes, gripped Crowley by the lapels, and drug him down with a grip like iron. Bobby had slammed their lips together with zero hesitation or shyness. The demon had snuck his phone out for a quick picture as soon as the other man closed his eyes. After all, where's the fun in just telling the story to the boys later when he could show them his ace. It was all going swimmingly.

Except that's when the plan went sideways.  

He'd quickly snapped the photo and slipped the phone back in his pocket to hide it in anticipation of the other man pulling away. Instead, he'd felt Bobbys large hand grip the back of his neck with surprising strength. Thick fingers had dug into the muscle, the sharp bite of untrimmed nails pricking at his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. The rough beard of the hunter had scratched against the demons face as he’d shifted the tilt of his head, an erotic contrast to the surprisingly soft lips against his. To Crowleys astonishment, he'd felt a tongue pressing against the seam of his mouth. Before he thought about it, he'd opened his lips to the probing. The kiss deepened immediately. Went from something simple and chaste to white hot in a matter of seconds. 

Crowley had found his free hand gripping the side of the face of the man kissing him with unexpected skill. The tattered hat that had been in his way was knocked to the floor in the desire to get closer. Deeper. There was no gentleness in the lips on his, no hesitation to the tongue tangling with his own. The old hunter tasted like cheap whiskey and the demon could almost feel the burn. Wanted to feel it. Crowley was shocked. He’d kissed whores with less skill than the man currently eating at his mouth like he was breathing the Demon King in to his very soul. A barely audible moan had escaped the demon lips and that sound had shocked him into some semblance of coherency.

Apparently it did the same to the hunter, who shoved him backwards where he’d stumbled to keep his balance. Bobby was watching Crowley with eyes gone dark, pupils large and open. Watchful. The other mans chest heaved with his heavy breathing and the knuckles wrapped around the wheels of his chair were white with the strength of his grip.  Although his heart had been hammering, the Demon King had smoothed down the jacket of his suit with remarkably steady hands. His voice even managed to be suave and condescending when he’d asked, “So….was it good for you?” He’d licked his lips unconsciously.

The hunters voice had been surprisingly steady despite the tension that gripped his body, “Is our deal sealed?” Crowley had felt his lips curl into the smile that chilled the dark souls of the demons who knelt at his feet. The hunter seemed unfazed. It had annoyed him.  “Oh yes. Sealed in sin and saliva.” He’d made a show of wiping at the corner of his mouth and had the pleasure of seeing Bobby flush red. “Then don’t you have something to take care of?,” the other man had growled through the embarrassment. The Demon King had waited as he’d watched the human squirm. Fascinating. The man couldn’t meet his eyes.  That kiss had been enough to set Crowley on fire but he hasn't wanted the other man knowing that. After an uncomfortably long amount of time he’d looked away nonchalantly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I’ll be in touch Roberta,” and had spirited himself away.

As the scene playing in his head faded away, he stood staring into the distance of his throne room as night tried to overtake the space lit by the dancing light of a hundred candles. The smell of dank stone and the lingering aroma of blood was setting his nerves twitching. That was far from the last time he'd seen the man. Even beyond when he'd chosen to give him back the use of his legs on the eve of the meeting with Death. 

Now,  he’d lost his bargaining chip and the two hunters and their crotchety surrogate were free to roam and cause any manner of havoc. He was safe, for now, but it wouldn’t last. Not with those three who destroyed everything they touched.

The King was bored, restless, and tired. He didn’t like to lose. After all, he could afford to lose the battle and still win the war. He knew exactly what his next move was going to be. He should probably go check on Samuel and make sure everything was going to plan. Purgatory was the key to it all. He knew it. Or maybe he should find the wayward angel and snarl at him again about his human pets.

Instead, he found himself in the darkened living room of Bobby Singers house. Just checking in on Robert to make sure that human didn’t get too comfortable after his recent victory. The small space is darkened and cramped and the hunter is standing clutching an empty glass. Clearly not his first. Crowley could practically get drunk off the air at this point. This time, the man isn’t aware of him and the demon smiles. “Thinking about me Robert?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, I'm naming these series of stories after the song "Meet me in the Dark" by Otherwise. It's very Crobby-esque to me.


	4. I believe the shadows breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in the missing time between 5.22, Swan Song and 6.01, Exile on Main Street.
> 
> Since there's a year that has large amounts of unaccounted for time with several characters, I figured this was the perfect place to build my Crobby story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAAAAACCCKKKK BITCHES!
> 
> For those who are subscribed, sorry for the long hiatus. My depression has had me in a choke hold and the raging cunt refuses to let go. 
> 
> Although she's won several battles, I will win the war. And I will keep writing and updating ALL my stories. 
> 
> This chapter is devoted to the amazing @Knowmefirst, who provided me the inspiration for this chapter. To see the photoset she created for me, follow this link to her Tumblr. 
> 
> https://knowmefirst.tumblr.com/post/170368182078/for-skyela-ask-for-a-hunt-gone-wrong-leads-to
> 
> A huge thanks to my beta for this one, @nopenopeartichoke who squeals over my work and helps me correct my improper use of parenthesis', among other things. ;) 
> 
> This one's for you ladies.

A full moon rides high in the darkened heavens.

The silvery reflection filters down weakly through the boughs of fragrant douglas fir and towering red cedar trees. Dim moonlight and deep shadows play amongst the soft carpet of fallen pine needles and spongy ground. A cool breeze interrupts the stillness, redolent with the scents of wet, healthy earth and damp wood.

The scene is peaceful and still. Serene. Quiet.

Too quiet.

There's no other sound but the soft whistle of the dying wind and the thudding of his heartbeat echoing through the silent forest. No bugs. No animals. No normal sounds that would bring an otherwise seemingly empty night to life.

Bobby carefully makes his way around the trunk of a dying tree, his footsteps almost soundless on the sodden blanket of pine needles as he moves towards the open clearing. Despite his age, he moves with measured speed and agility. He clears the tree line and stops abruptly. As he cocks his head to the side, he listens again. Still too quiet. Taking a deep breath, his nose catches a new scent. A cloying, copper sweetness that almost seems to leave an unpleasant residue on his tongue. Out of place and unwelcome amongst the relaxing scent of wood and wilderness.

Blood.

Bobby refreshes his grip on the M1903 Springfield rifle in his hands. The cold feel of steel beneath his fingers is comforting. The stock is held firmly to his right shoulder, his finger a hairsbreadth from the trigger as his dark eyes search the dimness around him. A fine tension, a predatory awareness, has the hunters muscles quivering and ready. Despite all appearances to the contrary, he knows he's not alone.

And not just because that idjit Rufus is about twenty yards to his left and had just started cursing up a storm.

The two hunters are out in the middle of the Idaho wilderness, just after midnight. Hunting a werewolf. A particularly nasty one too. The beast had already taken two female victims before Rufus had called Bobby in. One on each of the last two full moons. Both girls had their hearts ripped out and presumably eaten. All par for the course with a werewolf's MO.

Except, these girls had also been clearly savaged. Their bodies had been slashed and decimated by claws as well as teeth. Eyes torn out and missing. Decapitated. The heads literally ripped off with nothing but supernatural strength and temper. Both had been found mostly naked, in pools of their own blood, mere feet from a well-known hiking trail. The second body ended up barely twenty feet up the trail from the first. It appeared the beast couldn't wait to get them further into the forest before killing his prey. He also didn’t seem too worried about hiding his kills. Both women were found easily the day after they disappeared.

He should have been worried. Bobby swore he was going to make him regret that mistake.

This was a level of savagery the older men didn't deal with on an everyday basis. So they came ready for war. Silver rounds are ready to fire from the rifle in Bobbys hands, as well as loaded into his back up gun. A Colt "Artillery". The revolver is secured around his belt and riding high on his right kidney. Hooked across his left hip is a sheath that carries a three foot long machete that's coated in silver nitrate. A special surprise of the older man’s own making. He’s ready if the beast manages to dodge the .30-03 slug the hunter means to bury in his chest.

Growling under his breath, he turns his head slightly to the left and snarls to Rufus, “What in the hell are you bitchin’ about? Do you want to make us easier to find?” Bobby’s words are quiet despite their ferocity. His dark eyes sweep the forest once again before turning fully to the other hunter, the barrel of his rifle lowered to point at the ground.

The other man’s voice comes back loud and clear in the deep nights stillness. A thread of anxiety running through the words. “Damnit. Get over here Bobby. I found another victim.”

The hunter mutters under his breath and glances around almost involuntarily. He’s jumpy. On edge. Absently raises his left hand to rub at the back of his neck. His nerves give a small twinge when he realizes the fine hairs are practically standing on end. With a grunt, he drops the hand and quickly makes his way over to his current hunting partner. From a few feet away, he can see the dark shape sprawled across the forest floor. He hears a soft click, and without warning, a small sliver of light shoots out from Rufus’ free hand. Bobby blinks rapidly in an attempt to adjust his abruptly ruined night vision.

At the edge of his well worn boots, is a body.

Red. That's all he can see at first. Glimmering in the thin, surprisingly bright stream from the flashlight. A faint shimmer seems to dance across the bright color, jarring in a landscape otherwise colored almost black and white beneath the full moon. The smell hits him next. Sharp and acidic. The taste of copper-blood fear in his mouth, mixed unpleasantly with the odor of bowls released in death. Bobby grimaces as his eyes sweep the lifeless form.

This one is also female. Small and delicate. Probably beautiful before death stole her youthful vitality and extinguished the light in her now vacant green eyes. The gaping wound in her throat, and the blood drenched ground around her, is testimony to how she died. Ragged skin borders the wound that reveals a flash of white from deep within. Her spinal column. Most of her clothes are still in place. While dirty and stained with gore, he can still see the green of the outfit she chose for a night out. A fun party dress that is now her lacy death shroud. A black high heeled shoe is still on her right foot. The left shoe is missing.

Most glaringly to Bobby is the fact that her chest has remained mostly untouched. There’s no gaping wound. No missing heart. Beyond the slit throat, even the minor scratches and contusions on the body look like they came more from a minimal struggle rather than the animalistic rage that desecrated the bodies of the previous victims. After the first spray of blood, she seemed to have tried to stop the flow. Most of it ran down to drench her hands, arms and chest. He sees it all in seconds. The hunter squats down and lightly touches the pads of his fingers to the girls forehead.

Still warm.

He glances up to find Rufus eyeing the still silent forest around the two of them. His old buddy, or crotchety enemy depending upon the day, has his dark eyes narrowed. Knuckles that are practically white around the stock of his sawed off shotgun. Bobby feels the other man’s tension as sharply as his own.

This kill is fresh. The werewolf can't be far.

Unlike the previous two bodies, this one is more than half a mile into normally uncharted territory. The beast appeared to be getting smarter. Or at least more discerning about where he ripped out his victims throats. The violence of the kills, the fact it was one victim per full moon, the changing locations, all pointed to a fairly new wolf. They had checked missing person reports before coming out but there were no other cases that sounded like their current perpetrator. Most likely a loner and one more than four generations removed from a pure blood since the kills followed the lunar cycles.

Bobby gets to his feet, his right knee giving a twinge of pain as he straightens. Getting too old for this bullshit, he thinks to himself. Aloud he says, “Fresh. She's still warm.” His gaze once again sweeps the dimly lit trees and the darkened spaces between them.

The light flicks off. Rufus’ own well trained gaze is sweeping the landscape behind Bobby as he answers without looking at the other man. “I think we interrupted his dinner.”

“Bully for us.” The hunter mutters in response as he raises his rifle back into firing position. The two men adjust to an almost back to back stance at the feet of the body, covering each other’s six. They've done this enough times that they move almost in synch. No verbal communication needed.

A drop of cold sweat runs down Bobby’s back and he suppresses a shiver. His thick hand tightens around the barrel of the rifle and he curls a finger back around the trigger. The two men wait in anticipatory silence broken only by their light breathing.

**_Pop_ **

The sudden snap of broken wood echos like a rifle crack through the darkness. Inescapably loud and abrupt. Bobby swings right and sees Rufus swing left from the corner of his vision. The initial noise reverbated so quickly that he couldn’t tell exactly where it came from. Apparently the other man is having the same problem as he barks out, “Do you see it?”

“No.” Bobby answers shortly, putting four pounds of pressure on the five pound trigger. He narrows his eyes and pulls the barrel up to rest by his cheek. The gun is rock steady in his hands as he continues to move his eyes across the woods in a one hundred and eighty degree sweep. He knows Rufus will be doing the same at his back. Another crack has Bobby pivoting, rifle first, back to his left. The other hunter echos his movement mere seconds behind. Both take two steps away from each other and one step forward, distancing themselves. Less chance the beast can take them both down in one fell swoop.

From in front of them comes the howl of a wolf.

On its heels is the shrill pitch of a woman’s scream. Bobby casts a quick glance at Rufus and sees his own readiness in the flash of the other hunters dark eyes before he turns away. A second scream comes, just as desperate sounding as the first. Intermixed between each exclamation are frenzied calls for help. This time, the sound of breaking branches is impossible not to track as the loud cracks and snaps are coming straight towards the two men.

Seconds later, a third scream echos into the space around Bobby as a woman comes tearing out of the darkened tree line like the devil is on her tail. Her long hair is dark and streaming behind her like a cape as she tries to move her legs to run. The hunter sees a flash of light colored eyes rolling in a panicked face. As her body clears the underbrush, she stumbles another few feet before her legs seem to go out from under her and she goes sprawling across the moonlit ground.

Bobby doesn't even spare her a full look as he moves ahead to put himself between the lone surviving female and the wolf he’s sure is chasing her. There's two damn girls this time! Over broken whimpers, he can hear Rufus’ footsteps. His low voice is assuring the girl she’s going to be ok, that they’re here to help.

That’s when things get nasty.

Suddenly at his back, Bobby hears the roar of an enraged beast. His head whips around just in time to see Rufus go flying into a nearby pine tree. His friend hits with a sickening crack, his hand opening and releasing the gun as his now limp body falls face first onto the twig strewn ground.

From his left, Bobby sees her coming. Golden eyes shining with predatory fire. White teeth glistening in the forest evening as she lunges for his throat. The hunter is spinning as fast as he can to put her in his crosshairs, even as he knows it won’t be enough. She was already in mid leap.

A force like a train hits him, and at the same time, he pulls the trigger.

The fall, combined with the recoil, rips the rifle from his grip.

The hunter goes slamming backwards into the ground, his head bouncing on the spongy moss that does little to cushion it. His ball cap goes flying as his vision flashes white on impact. He tries to move. Fight. Run. Blast her heart out through her back. Anything besides blink dumbly while the synapses in his brain short circuit.

_A damned female wolf!_

As Bobby’s eyes begin to focus, he hears her snarl from a few feet away. His head jerks to the side even as he's scrambling to sit up, get to the revolver at his back. His aim was truer than he thought as he notices the blood running down her right arm. Unfortunately for him, it looks like a minimal flesh wound that will do little to slow the monster down. As the hunter meets her glowing yellow eyes, he sees his death reflected there. The muscles in her legs tense. Readying for another attack.

Bobby manages to get semi-upright, unsteady and still woozy. With every blink, there's a slight hesitation before his vision comes back online. His hand can't seem to find the grip of his pistol and pull it free. He hears his own ragged breathing. Feels his heartbeat thundering inside his chest and fluttering in his fingertips. His hand clenches around the guns grip. Almost there…..

It's too late.

He watches the monster spring towards him as he slowly, too slowly, starts to pull the Colt free of its holster. Time appears to move in flashes as she closes the few feet between them. It seems like he could count her dark eyelashes. Catalogue the flowers on her pastel blue dress. Smell the scent of fresh blood on her snarling lips.

Bobby’s life doesn't flash before his eyes as he watches death coming for him. Nothing that dramatic. He simply sees his wife's face. Smells her perfume. Remembers the sounds of his boys voices. The feel of hugging them close when he thought they were gone forever.

_I'm sorry……_

His arm is still moving but he knows his luck is about to run out. The hunter closes his eyes as he waits for the killing strike to spill his blood on the forest floor.

But that's not what happens.

From the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he hears a snarl that chills him to his core. A flash of burning heat, followed by the smell of sulfur, streaks over his head. He opens his eyes in time to see the werewolf go flying backwards with a growl echoing of anger and fear. Another unearthly snarl screams through the landscape and Bobby can't help the shiver that runs through him. He knows that sound.

Hellhound.

That thought finally gets his old body moving. He scrambles to his feet, his gun finally clear and pointed at the fight happening a few yards away. The wolf is now on her feet. Her long, dark claws are stretched out as she takes a defensive stance. From the darkness in front of her come puffs of what appears to be smoke. Although the hunter can't see the beast he knows is there, he can watch the girls eyes and track it's movements.

What good that's going to do, he's not sure yet. Bobby didn't come prepped for Hellhounds. He doesn't even know why the hell the beast is out here in the middle of woods. Just as he's trying to figure out what he's going to do when the hound kills the wolf and comes for him, a deeply amused voice sounds at his back.

“Apparently, her pack leader didn't teach her not to play with her food.”

The hunter turns too quickly and almost loses his balance. Standing next to a tree, partially veiled in midnight shadows, is Crowley. The King of the Crossroads eyes are shrouded in darkness but Bobby can feel the intensity of the demons gaze across the several feet that separate them. His gun hand dips towards the ground but he doesn’t notice. He hadn’t seen Crowley since he’d shown up at his house after the rugaru hunt in Ohio. After the Apocalypse that didn’t end the world. Since he’d left the bandages on the Bobbys doorstep……

_What the hell is he doing here?_

“Or not to toy with hunters.” The demon continues speaking casually, as if in response to a conversation that Bobby didn’t remember having. The hunter watches as Crowley leans lazily against the tree beside him and goes quiet. Expectant silence stretches and strains between the two men. Yelps and snarls sound from the fight a few yards away but Bobby barely notices it. All his attention is locked on the far more deadly threat standing directly in front of him.

Thirty seconds go by slowly with no words and no movement from the two men.

Finally, The King cocks his head to the side in a quizzical manner when the hunter still doesn't respond. His lips twist down into an almost pouting frown. “What’s the matter Singer? Werewolf got your tongue?”

The words hold a musical lilt to them with an underlying thread of menace that Bobby hears all too clearly. A shiver runs down his spine and he's speaking before his mind has a chance to catch up. “What the hell are you doing here?” The words lack the fire building in his gut, the tone almost soft, and he curses himself silently.

A hint of surprise flashes across Crowley's face. There and gone in seconds. Without warning, his flashes a feral smile that shows a flash of white teeth. “Roberta, you wound me.” As the purring words fall from his lips, the demon places a hand over his heart in mock offense. The flame in Bobby's gut flares hotter, heating his temper. “As it so happens, I had an appointment to attend nearby that required my special attention. My demons informed me you were in the area. I came to check on my investment.”

 _This situation just went FUBAR_ , Bobby thinks. _Crowley has his damn demons watching me_. His hand tightens around the grip of his revolver instinctively. He finally realizes the barrel is pointed at the ground between them but he doesn't bother to correct his aim. Been there, done that.

The King tucks his hand back in his pocket as he moves a few steps forward, considering gaze sliding to the left and over the hunters shoulder at the ongoing fight. From the sound of things, the two beasts were still tangling. “It's a good thing for your delicate hide I stopped by, wouldn't you say?” Unerringly, the demon locks eyes with the hunter. Everything about his body language says calm. Control. Now, Bobby can see his eyes up close. Feel power in his gaze.

Heat.

The hunter finds the look in Crowley's eyes stokes his own inner rage. “I'm not your goddamned investment, you black hearted son of a bitch.” The volume of his words is still soft. The growling anger in his tone is anything but. A tiny voice in the back of his mind is shouting at him that he should exercise some caution, especially since he's intentionally baiting a creature who could kill him with a thought. However, their last encounter had given him a measure of confidence. The demon could have done anything to him…..and yet he walked away. Plus the fact that he was still breathing now, when it would have been so easy to let him become puppy chow, pushes his conviction even higher. If Crowley wanted his soul, all he would have had to do is wait. Bobby had been seconds from a gruesome, bloody end.

Instead, the demon had saved the hunter.

Not just any demon either. The King of the Crossroads was powerful in his own right, not to mention having whatever powers his title gave him. He didn't need a Hellhound to do his dirty work. Not with his abilities. He was showing off. The equivalent of proving he had the bigger balls.

Bobby realizes all this in a heartbeat. He just doesn't know why.

As he watches, for just the briefest of seconds, an expression crosses Crowley's face at that hunters words. Bobby had blinked and almost missed it. It had to be the light though. Or lack thereof. Maybe it was the fact his head was aching something fierce from that fall. Or maybe he was just getting old.

After all, that couldn't have been pain he saw twisting The King of the Crossroads features.

With a mournful sound, somewhere between an animalistic squeal and a woman's scream, the werewolf loses the battle. The hunter knows a death cry when he hears one. They all had the same helpless tone. The same desperate defiance. Bobby struggles to resist the urge to look back as his heartbeat pounds in his chest. He knocks his chin slightly higher, almost looking down his nose at the other man in open challenge.

The demon cocks an eyebrow and moves a gliding step closer. Then another. One more. Until just two feet separate them. Bobby feels the hair on the back of his neck lift in warning. Crowley's features flow into an expression that is genial and slightly mocking. His shoulders relaxed. Posture at ease. Breathing even. In total control of a situation the hunter thinks he may have just lost his hold on.

The power that suddenly washes over Bobby, so at odds with the calm facade of the demon facing him, causes him to gasp. Crowley's mouth stretches into a vicious smile and his tongue darts out to lick his lips as the hunter abruptly realizes he can't move. _Shit. You've done it now Singer._ He can't even twitch the fingers around his gun. All he can do is breathe and blink.

The demon chuckles at his predicament. The sound is low and almost violating, like the feel of velvet rubbed the wrong way. At the dark sound, a painful throb beats once in his chest before the feeling flows all the way to his gut. Settles there like the burn of good whiskey. Warmth floods his face and he feels it tint his ruddy cheeks a bright pink. Crowley misses none of it as his watchful eyes sweep Bobby from head to toe and back again.

Suddenly, a snuffling sounds at the hunters left side. A tongue that’s burning hot and sharply barbed licks at his left hand. Pain streaks through his palm, quickly followed by a sharp growl from the newly triumphant beast. Bobby tries unsuccessfully to jerk his hand away. His gaze slides to the side almost involuntarily. The instinctive need to keep his eyes on a predator, even though Hellhounds are invisible to the naked human eye.

“Now Bobby, is that any way to thank your Black Knight?” The hunter jerks his focus back to glare at the demon but falters, retort dying unspoken on his tongue. While his attention had been elsewhere, Crowley had moved in silently. Like a stalking cat. Inches now separated the two men. Too close.

Bobby takes a moment to compose himself and he uses the time to size up the demon in front of him. _Black Knight is an accurate description._ Silvery moonlight softens Crowleys features. The black suit looks much the same as before, hand-tailored and expensive to highlight the best features of his body. A cat-got-the-canary grin twisting his lips. As the hunter watches, the demon tilts his head upward. This close, all Bobby can smell is some type of cologne. Spicy and hot, with just a hint of sweetness. Breathing in the scent makes him feel dizzy.

_Must have a concussion._

The Hellhound brushes his hand again. Crowley's eyes drop and he murmurs something under his breath. The touch of the hound withdraws. A second later, Bobby feels his hand moving as the demon wraps his fingers around his wrist and turns the appendage palm up. The hunter is still unable to control his own body, so he drops his eyes to look. A gash stretches across the meat of his palm. Red blood, looking black in the silvery light, is splashed across the skin.

Bobby's heartbeat speeds up in his chest as Crowley casually draws his thumb across the vulnerable skin on the hunters wrist. Gently traces the veins there with the edge of a nail. That simple, seemingly innocent touch, sends a shuddering weakness through him. Alarm bells chime inside his head as he hears himself say, “Let me go and I'll be happy to thank you. Just let me get my rifle.”

The demon rolls his heavy-lidded gaze upward. Acknowledgement of the threat, but no fear, narrows his eyes. His thumb is still lightly stroking Bobby's skin. Back and forth. Back and forth in a smooth, caressing movement. The motions feel far more intimate than they should. “You boys and your toys,” Crowley responds, his voice low and rough. “Always shoot first and ask questions later.” The previously gentle touch suddenly turns into a vise grip. “Hasn't it ever occurred to you that our agreement could be useful to both of us in other ways?”

The hunter feels his eyes widen. Thoughts whirl through his mind in strobe-like flashes. After getting the location for Death, Bobby just assumed that was all that was owed to him. Felt lucky to have that much. The fact Crowley threw his legs into the bargain was more than he'd thought possible. He'd never questioned it though. The hunter knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when dealing with demons.

King of the Crossroads. The thought whispers through Bobby's mind again as he searches the eyes of the man in front of him. Crowley was one of the most powerful beings in Hell. An unknown number of demons danced to his tune. He possessed the power to make your wildest dreams come true.

For the right price.

Now, it seemed the demon was offering more as part of their deal.

The hand gripping his is warm and lightly callused. Firm, without being painful.

The light in the demons eyes is gently questioning. Wanting. Almost soft, despite the growl in his question. In anyone else's gaze, Bobby would have called the look vulnerable. But this was Crowley. Crowley didn’t do vulnerable.

As the hunter watches, moonlight seems to catch in the demons pupils. A flash of cool silver where there is usually the hot red of fire. Strangely intoxicating, like being tipsy. Otherworldly. Bobby feels like he's falling. The unexpected sensation sends fear sliding through the back of his mind but it’s barely noticed. “What do you want from me?” Bobby asks as gruffly as he can manage.

Rather than the hunters interest surprising him, the demon suddenly looks pleased. The smile that unexpectedly graces his face makes him look relaxed. Almost human. A stark, and startling, contrast to a moment before. Drawing the hunter further in. Bobby can feel something winding around the palm of his hand, but his attention is caught on Crowley's face. Lost in the eyes holding his like the pull of the earth's gravity to the moon. Just as inescapable.

The demon leans forward. His hot breath ghosts over Bobby's chin, causing the hunter to bite back a gasp. “There's a few nasty beasts that have been causing me some problems as of late. I could offer up the locations so you and your sidekicks could do what you you do best. Wreaking havoc.” Crowley raises his eyebrow, teeth lightly indenting his lower lip.

Bobby blinks, slightly taken aback. That wasn't what he expected. The demon must have read the surprise in his features because he lets out a conspiratol chuckle. His voice drops lower, becoming an intimate whisper that has a drop of sweat dripping down the back of the hunters neck. “Don't look so shocked Robert. I know your skills. You and your boys have been a first class pain in my ass for some time now. And not the kind I occasionally enjoy.” Bobby tries to swallow and finds his mouth too dry to produce saliva. “Work for me.” Crowley leans in. So close that the smallest forward movement would put their lips together. “Work _with_ me.”

The air seems to crackle in the minute space between them. Bobby can feel his chest heaving with his breathing. The atmosphere surrounding them is almost suffocatingly hot. Heavy with anticipatory pressure. His world is narrowed down to nothing but the sight of dark, penetrating eyes. The feel of almost electric intensity where their hands touch. A horrifying, desperate need building low in his gut. Crowley's eyes drift half shut as he whispers, “It’s a helluva deal”

A deal…...Memories of the deal he already made whirl through Bobby's mind in a flash. That kiss. The instant, inexplicable hunger that had flooded the hunters body at the touch of his lips to the demons. The goosebumps he’d felt under his fingers as they’d gripped Crowley's neck, driving his compulsion higher. Pulling him closer. Starving for touch. Needing more.

The surprised horror that had washed through his body at his own actions when he’d swallowed the other mans moans.

Feelings of shame because of the deeply buried desire to do it again.

With a jerk, Bobby pulls back. At some point Crowley had released the hold of his power, and yet, the hunter hadn’t even noticed. His face flames red he stumbles back a step, pulling his hand free. The hunter is trembling and overwrought. Adrenaline, and God help him, desire, is setting his blood on fire. Even though he doesn’t want to, even though he physically broke the connection, his eyes remain locked on the demon in front of him.

For the briefest of moments, Bobby sees the crimson of hellfire deep in the other man's eyes, before it fades. The demon casually tucks his hands back into the pockets of his pants. He feels like he’s about to shake apart and Crowley, the bastard, holds his gaze with a now placid expression. It’s like the desire between them was only scorching the hunter, not the demon. _No. He felt it. He had to._

A groan sounds behind him. Bobby recognizes the sound and figures that idjit Rufus is coming around, but his eyes stay locked on The King of the Crossroads. The other man hasn’t moved, but the hunter stumbling backwards had given them a measure of breathing room. Thoughts spin through his head so fast he can barely make them out. He should say something. Tell him it’s not what he thinks. He doesn’t…..he’s not…… Do something. Anything. Run? _Maybe I should just shoot him_. Despite Bobby's mental gymnastics, he can’t seem to make his physical body move or speak. The demon in front of him is as cool as ice and betrays nothing.

After a few more heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, Crowley tilts his head to the side and gives a sardonic wink. “Well….maybe next time.” And he’s gone.

Bobby lets out a shuddering breath and bends over, bracing his hands on his knees as he struggles to slow his heartbeat. “Bobby?” The gruff voice comes from behind him, but he has to give himself another second before he can straighten and turn towards Rufus. The other man is starting to sit up against the tree that had knocked him out in their involuntary encounter. Rubbing a thick hand against the back of his head and grimacing. Bobby hurrys over and offers his hand out to the other hunter.

“Come on Rufus. Get your ass up.” As he glances down at the free hand he’s extended, he notices a blood stained bandage wrapped around his palm and secured in a knot at the top of his hand. He doesn’t get the time to examine it before the other man is gripping his wrist and forcing Bobby to pull him to his feet. Pain shoots through the covered wound and he bites back a grimace.

“What in the hell happened?” Bobby glances up and watches the other hunter looking around with still slightly fuzzy eyes. Rufus’ gaze widens when they fall to rest on the werewolf. Or what’s left of her, Bobby thinks, as he follows the line of his friends gaze. Thankfully, he can’t see much from the other side of the clearing, although what he can make out is enough. She’s been torn to shreds. Averting his gaze, he finds the other hunter watching him with blatant questions in his eyes.

Rufus starts to open his mouth but Bobby cuts him off. “Come on. We need to get out of here.” He turns away and starts towards his discarded rifle before calling back over his shoulder. “Or do you need me to carry your ass?” He stoops to pick up his hat on the way to his rifle and smiles slightly when he hears the curses coming from the man behind him. He slides his handgun back in the holster at his back before grabbing the discarded rifle in his left hand. Smile fading, he freezes as he stares down at the white bandage standing out starkly in the dark landscape. _What the hell have I done…..._

“Bobby!” Comes the yell, and it sounds like it’s not the first time. The hunter turns to see Rufus waiting, bag slung across his shoulder. Gun back in hand. Bobby nods once and makes his way over to the other man. Side by side, they carefully pick their way out of the woods and back to their respective vehicles with no other incidents. Although the other hunter glances at him several times on the trek back, Bobby avoids his eyes, choosing to focus on the darkened ground beneath him and where he’s putting his feet.

They reach the camping parking lot about twenty minutes later.

The drivers side door of his ‘71 Chevrolet Chevelle lets out a groaning squeak as he opens it and tosses his rifle inside. With trepidation churning in his gut, he meets Rufus’ gaze over the hood of the rusted out vehicle. The other man's eyes are narrowed in suspicion. Bobby meets the look with one he hopes is blank and unreadable but he feels like his eyes are still too wide. A warm wind blows over the two men as they stare at each other across a space that feels larger than the few feet that separate them. A chasm chock full of potentially deadly secrets.

Rufus tries to speak again. “Bobby, what…..?”

The other hunter cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Let it go Rufus,” he pushes the words out roughly. “We won. Time to go home.” Bobby can see the speculation, and hint of fear, in his friends eyes. He’s not stupid. Rufus knows he didn’t tear that werewolf to shreds with his bare hands. In fact, the other man probably caught the hint of sulfur lingering in the forest. But he wouldn’t push.

There were some questions one hunter didn’t ask another.

With a nod that can't quite be called friendly, Rufus climbs into his rumbling bucket of bolts and starts the engine with a roar. The truck backs out without the other man giving a backwards glance. Bobby sits quietly for a few minutes after he watches the taillights fade into the distance. His eyes sweep the woods in front of him. Even though he knows there’s nothing out there, he can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

With a sigh, he sticks the key in the engine and fires it to life. The familiar growl of his pet vehicle helps him regain a measure of his normal calm. Just as he’s about to pull out onto the main road, his cell phone rings. He slams the car into park. Fumbling the device from his pocket and cursing under his breath,he checks the number. Sees the name on the caller ID. His heart damn near stops in his chest. With a shaking finger, he clicks accept.

“Sam?!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on writing another chapter from Crowleys POV.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for Meet Me in the Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14452050) by [nopenopeartichoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nopenopeartichoke/pseuds/nopenopeartichoke)




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